


Impress Me

by ToAStranger



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adult Content, Foul Language, Gen, Gore, Implied Sexual Content, Kinda, M/M, Steter Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 14:37:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2511290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToAStranger/pseuds/ToAStranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their new English teacher has gone missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impress Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nezstorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nezstorm/gifts).



The first sign that something is wrong starts after the new English teacher disappears.  He’s hardly there long enough for any of them to learn his name before they’re sitting in their desks on a Tuesday morning, no instructor at the front of the classroom.  They talk until five minutes after the start of the period, chattering idly; it’s Lydia that nudges Stiles’ foot with her own.

He twists around to face her, brow pinched. At her tight lipped expression, he falters and gives Scott a lingering glance.  Frowning, Scott tilts his head and takes out his cell phone. Stiles’ phone buzzes a moment later.

_What’s up?_

_Lydia’s got that look._ Stiles replies quickly.  _So probably something bad_.

Scott grimaces and glances back at her. She gives him an apologetic look, eyes big and mouth thin. Sighing as his focus darts between the two of them, Stiles pushes to his feet.  At their questioning looks, he gestures to the door.

They follow him out.  Their classmates don’t seem to notice—or necessarily care.  In the hallway, they stop and Stiles fidgets with his phone.

“What’s going on?” Scott asks, but it’s directed at Lydia.

She shrugs, looking a big helpless.  “No idea.  I just know it isn’t good.”

“Wait, did you—?” Stiles ducks his head to catch her gaze.  “Did you sense something? Should I be breaking out my ear plugs?”

Lydia gives him a dry, unamused look.

“Right,” Stiles holds up a hand.  “My bad.”

Scott huffs.  “Well, what do we do?”

“I can call Derek,” Stiles offers.

Reluctantly, Scott nods.  “Yeah.  Yeah, do that.”

“Already doing it.” Stiles says, phone pressed to his ear.

* * *

“This is decidedly unpleasant," Stiles says, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

There’s a body in the Preserve.  It hasn’t been there long, but it already has started to smell like rot.  The face is shredded, but it isn’t hard to make a quick, quiet check of his wallet to identify their now late English teacher.  Scott looks green around the gills and Derek’s expression is pinched tight.  At Stiles’ side, Lydia grips his wrist with a grimace on her lips.

Peter is crouched before the body, gaze skimming over all the details.  The body’s chest is open, broken wide, and there’s a spatter of blood around him.  One of his legs is twisted at an odd angle, and there’s a smear of something wet against the bark.  Peter touches it, brings it to his nose and inhales.

“Just more blood,” he says.

“Likely cracked his head against the tree,” Derek sighs, arms crossing over his chest.  “Any chance he was just running and he tripped and fell?”

Stiles nods, almost eager.  “And the rest of it is just… animal scavenging?”

Peter tilts his head, reaching down and turning the body’s left art over, thumb brushing down over neat lines that had been carved into his forearm.  “I’m thinking not.  Unless the local fauna have started carrying around knives.”

“What is that?” Derek shuffles closer.

“Looks like a signature,” Peter says, tracing over the four, neat red lines.  “Or a symbol.”

“And somebody left it there?” Stiles frowns.

Peter sighs, glancing over at him with a dry look.  “You know, I can always count on you to ask the impacting questions, Stiles.”

Sneering, Stiles’ fingers flex at his sides.  “What does it mean?”

“Not sure,” Peter shrugs, pushes to his feet in a smooth motion and dusts off his hands over his pant legs.  “It isn’t something I’ve seen before.”

“Then what good are you—?”

“I’ll give Deaton a call,” Scott says, cutting Stiles off with a pointed look.

“Are we—?” Lydia sighs, fingers still tight around Stiles’ wrist.  “Are we leaving the body _here_?”

“We can’t move it,” Stiles replies.  “There’s going to be a police report within the next twenty-four hours if the school can’t get ahold of him.  Sooner if he’s got a spouse.”

“Should we tell your dad?” Scott asks, already dialing Deaton’s number.

Stiles sighs, recalcitrant.  “Yeah.  Probably.”

“We can’t just leave him here,” Lydia insists.

“I’ll stay until Deaton gets here,” Stiles says.  “Then I’ll call my dad, okay?”

He looks down at her, his smile soft.  She returns it, hand slipping into his and squeezing.

Derek clears his throat.  “We’ll have to inform the Argents.”

Scott holds up a finger, taking a step away from them.  He talks quietly into the receiver; Derek looks to Stiles and Lydia expectantly.  Rolling his shoulders, Stiles nods.

“I can tell Allison,” Lydia says quickly.  “She’ll tell her dad.”

“Could just send out a mass text,” Stiles shrugs. “Should probably let Isaac, Kira, and Malia know.”

“I’ll tell them at lunch.” Lydia says.

“That’ll be a fun conversation,” Stiles snorts.  “Hey, guys.  Remember that streak of good luck we had going? Well, now there’s another body—looks like we’re still on the real world equivalent of a Hellmouth.”

Lydia’s lips thin in that way they do when she’s trying to bite back a smile; she elbows him.  “We’ll figure it out.”

“I know.”

Derek shifts, brows drawing together.  “So you’ll stay here until Deaton arrives.  You honestly think that’s the best idea?”

“I’ve had worse,” Stiles says.  “Scott can’t miss anymore class, Lydia’s got an exam later.  _You_ need to hit the books in case Deaton can’t identify that mark either.”

Derek sighs.  “I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to.”

Scott steps back close, looking relieved for the first time since they stepped out of class that morning.  “He’ll be here in thirty minutes.”

“Awesome,” Stiles says.  “You guys get back to school then.  I’ll hover.”

Scott’s expression wrinkles, protest visible on his lips, but Peter cuts him off.  “I’ll stay with him.  Make sure he doesn’t get snacked on.  I’d like to speak with Deaton in regards to some supplies anyways.  Two birds, one stone.”

Derek and Scott share a quiet look before Scott nods.  “Okay.  Stiles?  Call if you need me.”

“I’ll let you know when Deaton’s done and my pops is on the way,” Stiles nods.  “No big deal.”

“You’re sure?” Scott asks.

“Positive, bro.  Get outta here.”

Scott gives him a firm nod, clapping him on the shoulder.  Hesitating, Lydia gives his hand a quick squeeze before pulling away.  Stiles’ smile is reassuring to both of them.  Only Derek lingers longer after they drift off.

He draws close, patting Stiles’ shoulder.  He mutters to him, telling Stiles to call if he needs anything and to let him know what Deaton has to say.  Stiles nods and watches as Derek walks away.

The quiet that settles after that isn’t soundless.  The trees seem to groan under the growing weight of spring.  There are birds chattering in the distance, and Stiles fidgets.  Peter watches.

“They’re gone,” he says after a moment.

Stiles’ shoulders go lax, head ticking over at an odd angle.  He twists around, eyes narrowed, and there is a stillness about him that makes Peter smile. 

“Well, this is a fucking hell of a mess you’ve made.” Stiles says slowly, almost idle.

He shuffles close, hands tucking into his pockets as his gaze strays down to the body.  Nudging at its leg with the toe of his sneaker, he sighs.  Stiles crouches, plucking up the man’s wrist and glancing over the lines in red on the body’s forearm.  His nose wrinkles.

Fingers trace over the four lines; three intersecting one at different points.  Brows pinching for a brief moment, he tilts his head and then his lips round slightly in realization. 

“My initials?” he asks, glancing up.  “Really?”

“It isn’t the first time I’ve added a signature for you,” Peter says, watching him carefully.  “Are you only just noticing them?”

“Harder to see when there’s fur in the way,” Stiles dismisses on another sigh, pushing back to his feet.  “Did you eat the heart?”

“I was going to save it, but I thought that’s be a bit too cliché.” Peter replies as Stiles looks his way again.  “Hunt with me next time and we can eat it together.”

Stiles blinks at him.  “So that’s what this is.  Seduction.”

“Did you think it was a threat?”

“The thought crossed my mind.”

“I wouldn’t threaten you,” Peter assures.  “I wouldn’t hurt you, either.  Not unless you asked.”

Stiles makes a clucking sound with his tongue, expression wicked but chiding.  “You’ll have to do _much_ better than this if it’s me you’re after.”

Peter frowns.  “You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that.  But a few dead animals and a literature professor?” Stiles’ eyes dart down to the body and back, voice lowering as he takes a slow step into Peter’s space.  “Child’s play.”

Lip curling up into a sneer, Peter glowers down at him.  “ _Really?_ ”

“Yeah, I mean, don’t get me wrong.” Stiles adds with a shrug, smile crooked and not kind as he presses in closer—blatantly unafraid.  “It’s cute.”

“Cute.”

“Mhmm,” Stiles cants his head.  “C’mon, Peter. You’re the big bad wolf.  You and I both know you’re capable of so much more.  Unless dying left you… impotent?”

Peter moves faster than Stiles can visually register.  His fingers tangle tight into the dark hair at the back of Stiles’ scalp; he tugs, angling Stiles’ head back and over, forcing him to bare his neck.  Stiles hisses out a chuckle, teeth grit into a snarl.  Peter loops an arm around his waist, holding him close as his eyes flash a dangerous blue.

Leaning in, he drags his nose up the line of Stiles’ throat.  Stiles holds still, near breathless, and Peter stalls with his mouth just over Stiles’ pulse.  A knife presses just at the inside of Peter’s thigh, and he smiles at the patient tap, tap, tap of it against the inseam of his pants.

“If you were human, I’d go for the femoral artery.  It’s a gusher.” Stiles breathes and Peter shudders at the heat of Stiles’ words against his cheek.  “You werewolves heal too fast for that.  But I _do_ wonder if you’d be able to grow your dick back.  Or I could always go higher?”

Peter stiffens, feeling the knife slip up, up to just below his navel, the tip of the blade dragging his shirt along with it so that cold metal can press to his skin.  His fingers tighten in Stiles’ hair, breath just shy of short, claws sliding out slow.

“You ever been eviscerated, Peter?” Stiles asks, tone light.  Nearly jovial.  “I imagine it must be surreal—having your insides outside.”

“I could _snap_ your _neck_ —”

“This isn’t a game of who can kill who first, sweetheart.” Stiles says.  “You’re going to let me go now.”

And Peter does.  It’s a bit reluctant, but Peter pulls back slow, eyes avid on Stiles’ face.  He doesn’t quite release him, but his hold loosens considerably, hands at Stiles’ hip and the curve of his neck.  Stiles’ smile is small but triumphant, eyes dark.

“Look at that,” he says.  “Old dogs _do_ learn new tricks.”

“ _Stiles_.”

“Settle, Fido.” Stiles hums, knife dropping to his side.  “Like I said: not that easy.”

Peter regards him for a moment.  “You want more?”

“That might be a good start.” Stiles says.  “You’re a smart man.  Find a way to impress me.”

“And when I do?”

Stiles smiles.  “Then I’ll give you what you want.”

“And how do you know what I want?” Peter asks, thumb brushing under Stiles’ ear.

“It’s kind of obvious, isn’t it?” Stiles says, soft in invitation, shuffling close until they’re practically flush again.  “You want to see what I look like with blood on my hands.  Nearly as much as you want me riding you until your eyes roll back.”

Peter’s mouth goes faintly dry.

“You want to see just how dark I can get, don’t you?  Just how depraved.  How many times have you gotten off thinking about fucking my mouth, Peter?”  Stiles continues, tucking his blade away, fingers drumming in tease up Peter’s sides, and he smiles when the man stays silent.  “Am I right?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Stiles says, head canting as he leans in, brushing a tauntingly soft kiss to Peter’s lips.

He pulls away a moment later, extracting himself mindfully from Peter’s touch.  Peter watches him silently, eyes flicking over his features as Stiles winks. 

Turning about, Stiles’ entire demeanor changes just as Deaton comes into view a few meters out.  Stiles waves him over, back to that jittery, unstopping motion as he flutters about in a façade of curiosity.  Peter watches.  Admires.  Doesn’t say a word.

* * *

A week later, two freshmen go missing.  The mess they find even makes Derek gag.  Stiles and Peter share a look, and Peter knows he’ll be getting _exactly_ what he wants.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Ooooh, I want Dark!stiles playing games with Peter. One upping each other with what the Pack will let them get away with. And just trying to impress the other. AND I WOULD LOVE Dark!stiles/Peter bloody courtships! (by bxdcubes)


End file.
